


The Salad Days

by chzo_mythos



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Incest, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chzo_mythos/pseuds/chzo_mythos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bullets era new beginnings waycest, UST then finally kind of RST.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Salad Days

**Author's Note:**

> Worked on this all day while I was home sick. Also, the title is a refernce to this interview: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iiuT3-ZyEGA&feature=fvw  
> thats the second part. Watch/listen to the whole thing if you haven't already. Seriously.  
> Oh, and btw http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salad_days

The sound of heavy breathing in his ear makes Mikey’s eyes snap open instantly. They’re somewhere in Missouri, he thinks, or maybe Mississippi, some ‘M’ state, anyway. On their way to another show, heating broken in the van so he and Gerard are huddled together for warmth in the coveted back seat, pressed close together due to the cold May night and the boxes of merch and stockpiles of junk food. Ray’s driving, Otter in the passenger seat, conversation barely audible over the shitty classic rock coming from the speakers. Frank’s passed out somewhere, so small he’s invisible, his soft snores the only thing letting Mikey know that they didn’t leave him behind when their van broke down in the middle of some godforsaken hick town a few dozen miles back. 

Gerard’s head is on his shoulder, turned facing him, unwashed hair tickling his neck, breath hot against his skin. Mikey bites his lip and glances down; vision a bit blurred from the peripheral aspect and left over alcohol in his blood. Gerard’s in a ratty, fucking filthy, old white shirt that Mikey thinks might be his, and black, equally filthy, jeans. And he’s tenting. Mikey’s teeth dig even harder into his lip as Gerard pants a bit, and his hands curl into fists against his thigh. He’s half tempted to wake Gerard up, half tempted to just let him sleep. A nuclear bomb dropping in his ear disrupts the war going on inside his head. 

“fuck…- _key_ …” Gerard moans softly, nuzzling against Mikey’s skin. 

Mikey’s lip is bleeding and he uncurls one of his hands, reaching up and poking Gerard’s cheek with a bony finger.

“G-Gee. Wake up, Gerard.”

Mikey can feel Gerard’s eyelashes fluttering against his skin, can feel the way Gerard’s vocal chords vibrate as he lets out a groan in protest. 

“Gerard, please, you…please.”

Gerard mumbles something unintelligible and moves away to look at his brother, cracking his neck. 

“Whasama…”

Mikey isn’t sure there’s any blood left in his body as his face has never felt hotter. 

“You…Gee, you fuckin’…”

He glances down, hoping Gerard gets the message. They’re already weird, he knows that, but he can’t say it, fucking _can’t_. Gerard does get it and looks down, a sharp intake of air and a few shaky breaths afterwards the only thing letting Mikey know that Gerard didn’t die just then. Mikey’s lip is burning and he knows when it scabs over it’ll look like herpes, but Mikey doesn’t really fucking care and keeps biting it. 

“Mi…Mikes…” Gerard says after a few moments, loud enough so that Mikey can hear him, but clearly soft enough to not be heard by Frank, Otter, or Ray, who’s drumming his fingers against the steering wheel dramatically to the beat of Bounty Hunter. 

“I’m, uh…s-sorry.”

And its so pathetic that Mikey's heart aches a bit and any thoughts he has about asking Gerard exactly what he was dreaming about—more importantly, _who_ —are shattered. He throws an arm around his brother, pulling him closer and smiling a bit, glancing out the window, the headlights of the other cars and the occasional fast food sign visible from the exit the only things penetrating the darkness of whateverthefuck o’clock. 

“S’okay” he mumbles against Gerard’s scalp. It smells like sweat and the fabric of the seats, but it also smells faintly of green apples, which Mikey knows is a bit weird because Gerard hates green apples, he’s even gone on epic rants when Mikey tells him how much he likes them, but Mikey doesn’t let himself think about that too much.

“It’s not” Gerard replies, but he buries his head in Mikey’s grimy shirt anyway, resisting the urge to sigh when Mikey’s hand drifts lazily across the slightly damp fabric on his back.

“I didn’t like” Gerard’s lips are pressed against the faded Anthrax logo as he speaks, deflating cock sticking against the cold, wet fabric of his boxers.

“I didn’t…say anything, right?” 

And Mikey shakes his head, chin digging into Gerard’s scalp.

“No, man. Why, you dreamin’ about a special chick? Was it Emma Frost, again?” He teases. 

Gerard just smiles. 

It’s for Gerard's benefit, it always is. Mikey might mention it, sometime, maybe. But not now. And probably never.

\---

The next time they stop, they’re a few miles from the venue, Otter filling up the van with gas while Frank and Gerard load up on beer and chips. Mikey’s leaning against the wall of the convenience store, in sight of the van but hidden from the entrance, cigarette burning in his fingers. He inhales the toxicity and tries to make rings like Gerard taught him. Ray laughs from beside him as he fails, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Do’ya think me’n’Gerard are…ya’know, weird?”

Ray chuckles a bit and shrugs his shoulders against the wall of the building, watching as Otter fucking finally clears off the dead bugs and bird shit from the windshield with a cloth that looks like it could be one of Frank’s shirts. Ray won’t say anything about it, though.

“’course you are, man. S’why I like you guys. You’re both freaks, but in a good way.”

Mikey smiles at this but shakes his head, tossing his half smoked cancer stick to the ground, watching it burn itself out against the concrete.

“No, dude. I mean, like. Are we weird, like, as brothers? Like, do we act, you know. _Weird?_?”

Ray lets out something between a scoff and a laugh as he shoves himself off the wall, stretching his arms over his head.

“No. I mean, me and my bro don’t really act the way you guys do” Mikey thinks of all the times he and Gerard sat on each others laps, held hands, kissed each other’s cheeks. He thinks of his first kiss. 

“But you two grew up different, and you…you’re close.” Ray says, eyeing a clearly uneasy Mikey before he adds, “it doesn’t bother me, you know. How you two are…like, togeth—”

“I’m not.” Mikey says, “ _We’re_ not. There’s nothing…we’re not.”

Ray nods and shrugs.

“Whatever, man. It’s cool, if ya’ do. Ever.” And he walks to join Otter before Mikey can say anything, not that he knows what he would say anyway. 

He hears giggles from beside him and turns to see Gerard and Frank walking out of the store, Gerard already breaking into a six pack with Frank desperately working to open the Doritos. 

“Hey baby brother.” Gerard says, throwing the arm that isn’t holding grocery bags around his shoulder, beer still in hand, “want some?”

Mikey nods gratefully and reaches up as they walk to the van, trying not to shudder as his fingers brush Gerard's briefly, downing the can in a matter of seconds. 

\---

Mikey’s never had so much trouble watching his brother chat up a girl buying their merch. It’s not like he ever wanted to think of his brother having sex anyway ( _right?_ ), but his mind is going crazy trying to process the fact that only a few, twelve, hours before, Gerard had been having a wet dream. Next to him. _About_ him (he thinks anyway, who the fuck else does Gerard know who’s name ends with “key”?).

What bothers him more than watching Gerard try to get into that girl’s tight, _tight_ , pants is what Ray said earlier that day. Do they really act like they’re together? Like, _together_ together?

Mikey remembers the first time he went to visit Gerard in New York. He was still in high school, on break. He had been to New York before, as a youngster, with his parents. But being a teenager and without parental supervision, the lights and the sounds and the people and the feeling, Mikey thought his head was going to explode. Gerard just smiled at him and laced their fingers, so when they shoved their way through the crowds, neither would get lost. They went to a show that night, some crappy skatepunk band that only drew a crowd because they had the right hairstyle and enough eyeliner on. They held hands there, too; Gerard even wrapped his arm around Mikey’s waist when he ordered him a drink. The bartender said they were a cute couple. Neither of them corrected her. The next night they saw The Smashing Pumpkins, with the tickets that Mikey bought, courtesy of Song Of The South, Korean subtitles thank you very much. That’s when he told Gerard he wanted to be in a band. Gerard had smiled and kissed the side of Mikey’s head, lacing their fingers and mumbling an ‘okay’ before going back to watching Billy Corgan belt out the opening to Muzzle. Mikey can’t remember if he felt weird back then. Than again, he can barely remember last week. 

It turns out that Miss Hotpants has a girlfriend. She also has a living room, which she invites them to crash in. They can’t, Gerard tells her; they have to be in Ohio by morning. Mikey’s never been so thankful for their weird tour schedule.

\---

Otter and Gerard are giggling drunkenly about nothing in the backseat. Frank has once again disappeared within the van, this time the only thing alerting the others to his presence is the random intervals at which he tells Gerard and Otter to shut the fuck up. Ray’s up front again, in the passenger seat this time while Mikey drives, music of choice some alternative station that fades in and out, Mikey forcing his heavy eyelids open when the music turns into static white noise. He’s not a bad driver, probably should check his mirrors more often, maybe drive a little slower, and should learn what it means when something lights up on the dashboard, but he isn’t bad. He hates driving, though, especially on the freeway. That’s when he ends up zoning out, the easy 70 rarely being broken as they drive down the interstate in the middle of the night. He gets too much time to think. About how weird Ray’s hair looks when it’s wet, sweat drying from his coarse locks. About how Otter knows every mechanical fact ever. About how Frank can be so hyper after only getting a few hours of light sleep each night (day). About Gerard. 

About the pout Gerard gets when he’s upset. About his girly laugh when he thinks something is _really_ funny. About the way his slightly calloused fingers curl softly around a paintbrush or pencil, horrible beauty flowing through his soft, sure strokes. The way he looks when he’s sleeping. The way he panted against Mikey’s neck that night. The way his cock looked, pressing hard into the black fabric of his jeans, the outline almost obscene. The way Mikey wonders how he would look without them.

Fuck his life. Seriously.

\---

He’s decided that it wasn’t a big deal. Like, he once dreamt about his mom in crotch-less panties (she also had tentacles coming out of her blue vagina, but whatever, same idea). Gerard couldn’t control it—didn’t know, so it’s fine. 

It’s fucking _fine_. 

\---

“You’re adorable.” Gerard says after Mikey’s turn kicking. 

Mikey makes a face and Gerard laughs and goes back to his place in line. Mikey tries desperately not to let his gaze follow. He’s not adorable. Kittens are adorable, little Japanese toys are adorable, ~~the way Gerard sticks his tongue out a bit when he’s concentrating is adorable~~. Mikeyway is _not_ adorable.

“’m not adorable,” he mumbles, making his way to the back of the line after Otter confirms that he’s out; Frank laughs from beside him in the line to kick.

They’ve got a small kickball game going—the boys from Underoath facing up against the ‘My Chem Squadron’, as Gerard puts it, and they’re winning. Well, they were winning, until Mikey got out. Fucking God-lovers and their fucking long arms and fucking stable hands, fucking hell, and now they’re even. Mikey can feel Ray looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but he ignores it, rolling his shoulders a bit and standing up straighter, as if somehow that would seem intimidating, to make sure Ray doesn’t say anything, even though it’s pretty impossible for Mikey to be intimidating, but still.

\---

He’s pretty much decided to not think about _that night_ anymore, decided that it didn’t mean anything to him (though, if that’s true, why does his heart fucking flutter when Gerard _smiles_ at him? When Gerard just _looks_ at him? When Gerard is even _mentioned?_ ). Fuck his life. _Seriously._

\---

“Fucking hell, you need to go east, Gerard! You took the wrong exit, we’re going in circles!”

“Shut up, Frank! I know what I’m doing.”

Mikey sighs contentedly from the middle seat in the van. Otter is in the back this time, stretched out, feet resting on a box of their CDs. Ray’s sitting next to Mikey, head leaning against the window, mouth half open and snoring against the glass. Frank and Gerard are up front, Gerard driving, Frank bitching, Queen coming out surprisingly clear and crisp through the shitty speakers. Mikey has a notebook in his lap, one of Gerard’s. He’s been thumbing through it for the past few minutes, looking for some insight into his brother’s head, and so far, fucking nothing. A few scattered lyrics, drawings of the zombie apocalypse here and there, but nothing else. Blank page, blank page, the beginning of a chorus, blank page, vampire, alien, _vampire alien_ , blank page, a verse and the start of a bridge, superhero werewolf, blank page. 

He sighs and tosses the notebook on the floor, kicking it so it’s wedged under someone’s jacket. He doesn’t think Gerard will notice anything. 

\---

A few shows go by in a blur, and so far, Mikey has kept fairly true to not thinking about _it_ , until one night when they’re able to stay for the after party. It really isn’t often that they are able to hang around long after a show, leaving hours earlier than they need to, to account for the food and piss stops, and the inevitable time when the van breaks down, so it’s something that none of them are taking for granted. Mikey has to drive later, so he’s only had a few drinks, enough to be buzzed, but a small enough amount that he’ll be sober (at least, mostly) for the drive to Louisiana. 

He’s leaning against the bar, nursing a grossly overpriced beer, but he feels he’s fucking earned it, watching the show a few yards from him. Frank is kind of climbing all over Otter while Ray’s just sitting back laughing, even more so when Frank’s drink basically falls out of his mouth and into Otter’s hair. Gerard is to the left of them, on the mock ‘dance floor’, grinding with some chick (or maybe dude, Mikey’s never really sure anymore, with the stupid fucking scene thing) in pants so tight they might as well be a second skin. Mikey kind of likes the drunken Gerard, which is equivalent to saying he likes the ‘stage’ Gerard. Don’t get him wrong, he still loves the sort of shy, geeky, slightly introverted brother Gerard is most of the time. But on stage, or after a few drinks, Gerard is confident and pretty much made of sex—that’s _not_ the part Mikey likes, just an observation—and Mikey thinks Gerard deserves that, deserves to be confident (he doesn’t think too much about the ‘made of sex’ part, even though it hangs in the back of his mind whenever he sees Gerard on stage or in a bar). 

Gerard and the girl’s( _?_ ) grinding gets a bit more serious and that’s about when Mikey turns around and bends slightly over the bar, downing his drink and setting his money on the counter. He turns back around and watches Ray, Frank, and Otter for a bit—Otter’s holding Frank upside-down until Frank says ‘uncle’, though he’s giggling so much it looks like he can barely breathe, Ray’s still sitting back, laughing—and it’s then Mikey realizes he’s desperately got to piss. He makes his way through the sparse crowd and enters the boy’s room, immediately going for one of the stalls (he’s never liked urinals, but he hasn’t really figured out if it’s because he feels _inadequate_ , or he just doesn’t want to accidentally see another dude’s cock). He’s just shaking off when he hears the door open again and a few clumsy feet and hushed voices stumbling in. He recognizes one of the voices immediately as Gerard’s and he bites his lip. He has two options, open the door and face it like a real man, or hide like a girl. 

He chooses the latter, climbing up onto the toilet so his feet don’t show, and it’s at that exact moment when Gerard moans—Mikey’s pretty sure it’s him, anyway, from growing up together and sharing a room with Gerard when the older was a teenager—and Mikey can hear the quiet sloshing sounds of _mouth on dick_ and his teeth are digging into his lip before he can even comprehend what's going on. 

He stays like that for a few minutes, bracing himself on the stall walls, crouching so his head doesn’t go over the top of the door, until he hears Gerard whimper and a quiet “fuck” escape him. And then the noise basically stops, the only thing audible being hushed panting and the rustle of jeans being redone. The girl—boy?—coughs a little bit and Mikey can pretty much see Gerard’s face, the way he smiles, kind of timidly but still weirdly cocky, and hears him whisper “thanks” before the door opens and the… _person_ leaves. Mikey hears Gerard sigh and the sink starts running, Mikey knows Gerard is splashing his face. Gerard lets out a shaky breath before he leaves and it’s only then Mikey breathes a sigh of relief. He steps down from the toilet and unlocks the stall, walking to the sink and washing his hands. He catches his reflection in the mirror. His lip is a little bloody and his eyes are hollow, and he’s just tall enough and the mirror is just low enough that he can see the half hard outline of his dick in the reflection. But it’s not because of Gerard, seriously. The chick/dude was just really hot, and the image of them on their knees was pretty awesome. Really. 

\---

The Louisiana heat is the worst kind. Not only is it hot, _hot_ , it’s moist. Mikey’s shirt is clinging to him and it’s kind of gross and if he gets up, haha, yeah right, there’ll be a wet spot on the van’s carpet. They’re parked outside a gas station, Ray and Frank inside to get refreshments and Otter filling up, because he’s the only one who knows what the fuck he’s doing. Mikey’s laying on the floor of the van, thinking back to 8th grade science where he learned heat rises, though he’s not so sure, it’s so hot, fuck, but if it is, then he’s way glad he’s on the floor, because it feels like 100 degrees, so it must be 120 up by Gerard’s head, which is leaning out the window in a feeble attempt to cool down. 

Otter’s taken over driving, allowing Mikey to sleep for the first time in what feels like months. Really, it’s been maybe 25, 26 hours, but when he dreams, it’s just scattered images that don’t really make sense (or, rather, he doesn’t let make sense) and that results in restless nights (days) and heavy bags under his eyes. He hears Gerard mumble something, but doesn’t lift his head as he makes a quizzical noise. 

“I said you smell disgusting.” Gerard tells him. 

Mikey scoffs and turns his head slightly to look at his brother. 

“Like you’re one to talk.”

Gerard smiles and Mikey tries to ignore the way his heart beats a little bit faster in his chest. 

\---

They’re driving to Shreveport when Mikey hears it. They’re in the very back of the van, lying on the rough metal floor, using boxes of their own merch as pillows and dirty clothes as blankets. Frank is driving with Matt in the passenger seat. Ray is behind them, leaning up and talking animatedly with Matt about the new Molly Hatchet album he got, so Mikey knows that it’s Gerard’s movement that wakes him up. He’s facing the back of the seat in front of him while Gerard is facing the back of the van. There’s the sound of the tires on the road, the static-ridden Black Flag song on the radio, the rustling of fabric, and, oh yeah, the slick ‘fap fap fap’ sound of Gerard’s hand fisting his cock.

It’s not _that_ weird, Mikey’s heard Gerard get off before, when they used to share a room, and Mikey’s definitely jerked off in the van before, but it’s different because Gerard is right there, doing. That. And Mikey bites his already damaged lip (Gerard asked him about the scaring the day before, Mikey shrugged and looked away), clenching his eyes shut and pretending he doesn’t feel himself hardening against the front of his jeans. He’s pretty sure the guys can’t hear it over the music—and even if they do, they’ve all kind of learned to tune each other out during the night—but Mikey can hear it crystal clear. Can hear the way Gerard’s breath hitches in his throat when he cums with an embarrassingly high _nnnnhh_ sound. Can hear the way Gerard pants as he comes down from his high. Can hear the way he starts sobbing into his arm. 

Mikey sighs, this really isn’t the time he feels he should be, you know, _brotherly_ , but he turns his body slightly and places a soft hand on Gerard’s shoulder before turning back quickly and shutting his eyes, trying to sleep, willing his hard on to go down.

\---

“Come on freaks, let’s go dancing!”

Mikey looks up from the tabloid he bought at the last gas station and stares at Frank, eyebrow raised.

“Uh. That’s really fucking gay, dude.”

Frank scoffs but sits on Mikey’s lap—totally _not_ gay—and laughs.

“Fuck you man. Just because you want me. Faggot.”

Mikey rolls his eyes and looks to Gerard who’s twiddling his thumbs nervously, shoving Frank off him. Frank giggles and sprawls himself out, legs across Mikey’s thighs, torso on Ray’s, and head laying on one of Gerard’s. 

“C’mon, guys. Gee, you want to, right?”

Gerard bites his lip and shrugs, glancing at Mikey.

“Y-yeah, I guess. I want to.”

Mikey’s eyes flick away from Gerard, but he kind of fucks up because he ends up looking at Ray, whose eyebrow is raised quizzically. He really hates how well he knows Gerard, because to him (and Ray, apparently), it’s obvious Gerard wasn’t talking about dancing.

\---

They end up not going out, much to Frank’s dismay. But they do, however, end up parked outside the venue later that night, they have the day off tomorrow, and a small party is going on. A few other bands and a fair amount of groupies are scattered around, but Gerard’s sitting in the van, pen scribbling furiously. Mikey sees him out of the corner of his eye and manages to tear himself away from the girl he’s been talking to for the last hour (Jenna? Jeanie? Stephanie? Mikey has no fucking clue, all he knows is that she’s made it abundantly clear that she wants to fuck him) and walks over to the van, ducking his head and stepping inside, sitting next to Gerard on the floor. 

“You okay?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Hm? Yeah.” Gerard says, not looking up from his notebook.

“You’re lying.” Mikey states plainly.

Gerard sighs and looks up, and it’s then Mikey can see the dark circles around his eyes, and he knows Gerard has been rubbing at them.

“Yeah. I…Mikey…”

Mikey’s not sure he likes where this is going, but he motions for Gerard to continue. Gerard takes in a breath and tilts his head up, staring at the sky through the window of the van.

“I…I know we’ve never been exactly normal, but………Ray told me what you said. When you asked him about us? Look, Mikes, I…I really—”

“Don’t say it Gerard, fucking don’t. I’m not gonna let you fuck this up” Mikey interrupts, his hands curling into fists against his thigh.

Gerard swallows hard and bites his lip, eyes darting to the floor, fingers picking at a loose thread on his shirt.

“So…I’m guessing you don’t—”

Mikey sighs. 

“No. I mean, yeah, I guess. I don’t know. Fuckin’—shit, Gee. It doesn’t matter. We can’t, we fucking can’t.”

Gerard laughs dismally.

“Yeah, I know.” 

And Gerard looks so pathetic and sad that Mikey, as always, looses all of his anger and yields, even if it’s just a little bit, and brushes his lips against Gerard’s briefly, choosing to ignore the shock sent down his spine and hops out of the van. Maybe if he finds that groupie quick enough, he can score a quick blowjob behind one of the cars in the lot.

\---

They’re in the backseat again the next night, Ray’s driving and Frank’s in the passenger seat, Matt is asleep on the seat in front of them. Mikey’s thumbing idly through a magazine he found on the floor, he can’t remember if its Hustler of Playboy, and he’s too lazy to flip it around and see, but he can feel himself hardening regardless.

Gerard puts a firm hand on Mikey’s knee. Mikey closes the magazine and tosses it to the floor.

“Gerard.” He warns, softly. 

Gerard bites his lip and shrugs, trailing his hand up Mikey’s thigh, palm of his hand brushing against the growing bulge. There are lines, and letting your brother get you off is definitely crossing all of them, but at some point between the pressure on his dick and his zipper coming down, Mikey stops caring. Gerard reaches down with his arm and grabs a thin blanket, pulling it over their laps as his other hand pulls Mikey’s cock out of his boxers and begins stroking. 

It’s a little dry and Gerard’s being way too soft, but the combination of the risk of being caught, and the fact that it’s his _brother_ doing this (which excites Mikey more than it should, he knows), and Mikey brings up his own hand, biting his wrists as he cums against the blanket, and he has to look away when Gerard brings his hand up and licks a little of Mikey’s jizz off his fingers. Mikey takes in a shaky breath and tucks himself back in his jeans. Part of him wants to reach over and help Gerard out (Mikey can see the way he’s tenting, even through the blanket), but another part of him wants to turn away and try to sleep. The latter part wins and he leans his head against the window, moving the blanket off of him and closing his eyes. He pretends not to hear Gerard’s depressed sigh.

\---

The next night is the first time in months that they get a motel. Gerard calls rooming with Mikey before anyone has a chance to ask—Mikey doesn’t miss the way Ray looks at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“What is this?” Gerard asks when they get to their room, sitting back on the bed and playing with the hem of his shirt

Mikey sighs and leans back against the door.

“I don’t know.” He chuckles a little, “I don’t fucking know.”

Gerard shrugs.

“Well, you…you know how I feel. How do you—”

“I don’t know, okay?!” Mikey exclaims, arms flailing wildly, and if he weren’t upset, Gerard would find it ridiculously funny.

“You’ve had a long time to think about this, it’s all hitting me right now, man. I don’t…” he runs his hands through his hair.

“I don’t know how I feel about you, about…this. I…you’re my brother, Gee.” He says, sliding down and sitting on the floor.

“You’re my brother.”

Gerard laughs and tilts his head back.

“I know, fuck. I know.”

Mikey stands and moves towards the bed, sitting next to Gerard, thighs touching. 

“It doesn’t make it any less wrong if we both want it.” Mikey says, his throat closing up as he speaks.

“But it doesn’t make me want it any less.” Gerard says, choking back tears.

“So what do we do?” Mikey asks, glancing up at Gerard.

It’s the first time in a long time that Mikey actually feels like the little brother, and it’s really terrifying. 

“I don’t know.” Gerard says, lacing their fingers, “but you only live once.”

Mikey squeezes his hand.

“I’m scared, Gee.”

He is, he really fucking is. And what scares him more than the way his heart flutters when Gerard leans over and kisses him, is the way he kisses back.

“This is as good of place to start as any” Gerard whispers against Mikey’s lips.

“I want things to be like they used to be.” Mikey says, leaning in.

Gerard smiles.

“I think this is a pretty nice beginning.”

Mikey laughs and feels it reverberate through Gerard’s lips.

“That was so cheesy.”

Gerard smiles wider and pecks at Mikey’s lips, pushing him onto his back.

“Fuck you.”

\---

Mikey’s not sure what they are, it didn’t really come up between their lips being attached and him being _inside_ Gerard (which replays in his mind whenever he shuts his eyes), but he really doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to give it a label, whatever ‘it’ is. They’re just…them. Not boyfriends, but not really brothers anymore either. Just. Them. 

\---

Gerard and Frank are in the store again, Matt filling up the tank, and Ray and Mikey are leaning against the wall of the gas station, Mikey trying to make smoke rings like Gerard showed him (and succeeding this time, Gerard going step by step when they were lying together on the dirty motel sheets, chests rising and falling rapidly). Ray is smiling at him and Mikey raises an eyebrow. Ray shrugs.

“I told you. I called it.”

Mikey chuckles and chucks the cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with his shoe.

“I don’t know what you mean, man. S’just us.” He says, walking back to the van where Gerard and Frank are stacking the six packs, hands ghosting across Gerard’s back as he leans over to help. Ray smiles knowingly and shakes his head, following Mikey back to the van and getting in the driver’s seat. 

They’ve got a long way ahead of them, Mikey thinks, but he’s pretty sure it’ll all be worth it (though he isn’t sure whether it applies to the band, or Gerard and him).

“Both.” He says, staring out the window at passing cars.

“Hm?” Gerard says, spreading the blanket over them.

Mikey smiles and laces their hands under the covers.

“Nothing.”


End file.
